Small-Town Life in Wisconsin

Jamey Berger finally found his way back to the quiet Wisconsin town where his family has lived since 1836. But when he and partner Dan DiPaolo bought a house there, they got much more than they bargained for — namely, a whole new life in which work, play, and a sense of community merge joyously together.

Everyone in Jamey Berger's family knows the story, passed down through the generations, of how Berger's great-great-great-grandfather Herman Loomis settled in Burlington, Wisconsin, in 1836, and raised the first two children ever born there. One of them was Charlotte Loomis, Berger's great-great-grandmother. Berger himself grew up in Burlington, but left, as grown children will do — first for college in Ohio in 2001, then five years ago, in search of a design career in Milwaukee.

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There Berger met Dan DiPaolo, now his partner. DiPaolo, executive creative director of a calendar company, hired Berger as a staff artist, and the two moved into a ranch house in the suburbs. But barely a year passed before both admitted they longed for a home with some land — and some history. The couple began searching for a place, any place that had character and was within commuting distance of work. After they'd shaken their heads at a slew of hopelessly far-gone ruins scattered across southern Wisconsin, their real estate agent finally e-mailed a photo of a charming 1883 stone house on 40 acres situated — you guessed it — only a few miles outside Berger's hometown of Burlington.

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"We came around that bend," says DiPaolo, pointing to the road that leads up to their gorgeous oak- and pine-dotted front lawn, "and it looked just like a postcard." The house still had its original warbled-glass windows — infinitely pleasing to Berger, who studied historic preservation in college. And no one had tampered with the Victorian wooden front porch — the clincher for DiPaolo, who spent many happy boyhood days at his grandmother's country home in upstate New York. "I'm always trying to re-create my grandma's house," he admits.

Of course, instant gratification was definitely not part of the house's package. Much of what the couple found, inside and out, didn't resemble any kind of postcard ("decades of bad trends," sighs DiPaolo). Working nights over three hard months, the pair scraped layers of carpet and linoleum off original hardwood floors; undid so-called improvements, such as sixties knotty-pine cabinets in the kitchen; and painted the walls soothing tones of mustard, taupe, and brown. Surprisingly, the muted shades seem to lure even more sunshine in. "We love those in-between colors that morph with the light of day," DiPaolo explains.

The two artists' ability to see the beauty in everyday objects is apparent in each room. They've collected Early American and turn-of-the-century furniture and pottery for years, along with a hodgepodge of folk art created by friends. Now brought together in the farmhouse, the simple, strong-lined pieces — from sturdy 18th-century cabinets to bentwood storage firkins stacked sculpturally in odd corners ("early Tupperware," jokes DiPaolo) — blend together seamlessly.

In ways that the two never expected, though, the farm has changed them more than they've changed it. During the spring of 2006, their first in the house, Berger and DiPaolo planted some heirloom squash seeds on a bit of the property, curious to see what shapes might sprout out of the ground. But the packet yielded such a bumper crop — "We ate so much squash that year!" recalls Berger — that, on a lark, they decided to bring their bounty to the Thursday farmers' market in downtown Burlington. It wasn't long before the newcomers were a regular fixture.

The market — and even, in a way, the couple's presence there (their stand is named Fried Green Tomatoes) — has helped revitalize Burlington and gives people "a reason to go downtown again, to be there and connect," Berger notes with homegrown pride. And as he and DiPaolo became part of the community, they found themselves wanting to spend more and more time at the house. Finally, two years ago, they cut the cord and quit their day jobs to work at the farm full-time. With help from Berger, DiPaolo runs his freelance design business — creating kitchenware and calendars for merchants such as Kohl's and Bed Bath & Beyond — from a sunny studio in the living room; they take turns selling produce and eggs in the store they operate out of their barn. Berger, who used to wonder, during their commute, why he wasn't born in the 1800s, relishes the centeredness he feels on the farm, where the couple's crops now occupy five of their 40 acres: "When I'm planting tomatoes, I'm in the moment — I'm thinking about planting tomatoes."

So far, they haven't hired anyone to help with the crops, and the design business still pays the bulk of the bills (while also keeping them busy during Wisconsin winters), but DiPaolo jokes that Berger has gotten so into farming the old-fashioned way that soon he'll probably get a horse and plow. To which Berger shrugs, as if to say, "Well, what's so crazy about that?" Putting in hard agricultural labor and eating their vegetables — including the pickles they tint a vibrant green in honor of DiPaolo's grandmother, who made them that way "because she was color-blind," he explains — the two have each lost about 30 pounds. What they've gained, though, can't be measured on a scale. The couple marvel daily at the magic they've cooked up on the farm. Thinking of those first squash seeds, DiPaolo says, "I love the times where you do this one simple thing, and it takes on a life of its own."

Louisa Kamps,

an avid collector of rustic pottery, lives with her husband and son in Madison, Wisconsin. Armed with tips from Berger and DiPaolo on flea markets around the state, she's ready for more jug and bowl hunting this summer.